Sympathy for the Devil
by Exilo
Summary: Passed over as one of the dead after a vicious battle with the humans, a Sangheili major is forced to take refuge with a pack of Jiralhanae. All he has to do is help them with a raid on a human colony. Simple, right? Done and done. Read and review.
1. Chapter 1

_Our first contact with the…parasites…was Harvest. Whether it was the Covenant's interest, or they simply uncovered it by accident ,it doesn't matter . We managed to scrape a single spore from that horrific exertion, and from that we breed more. I am sorry that you were not made aware of it, but it was on a need to know basis, I'm sure you understand. These parasites are remarkable creatures. Horrific, frightening, cancerous in the rate they can breed, but remarkable. They are impossible to reason with. Truth be told, we would have a better chance of building a treaty with the Elites, at least they have ears to listen, minds to reason. Nothing works with the parasites, we can't threaten them or reason with them. However, even enemies are a valuable resource that must not be overlooked._

_Chapter 1_

"This is Major Orff 'Schulwerkee, does anyone copy."

The words oozed from between his mandibles, slick and slimy, after a long, deep breath of cold, dry air. Not the worst that Orff had ever been hurt, in fact his commanding officers had beaten him worse during his training, but this was the worst he had even been hurt alone, without someone to help him walk and ease his wounds. An entire clip of magnum bullets, point blank, after his shields had already shriveled to nothing under the assault of countless rifle fire. Through the armor, through the chest, and burrowed deep enough that everyone cut like glass with each breath. "Spartan," he hissed. He felt great honor when his blade cut through the green armor and to the soft, weak flesh beneath. No matter how they dressed, no matter how fearless they may been on the field of battle, or what sorcery they used to make them stronger, cut a human open and the insides were all the same. Beneath that armor, there was a soft fleshiness that popped just the same. To know that green clad warrior wouldn't live to take another of his brothers away, he had seen far too many fall to this new breed of human, he would die knowing that. A life for a life, a major for a general, it seemed like a fair enough trade. To die in battle would have been an honor. And indeed, even with his gut aching, he charged forward with his blade in hand, absorbing round after round until his body gave way to darkness. He thought he was dead. He believed he was dead, and saw the life of paradise that all honorable soldiers would go to. A pleasant death, one of honor. To die fighting the human plague.

He had yet to bore a son. Though it was Sangeheili tradition for the father not to have contact with his brood, all fathers did, just not officially. They all watched, from a distance, as their son grew into proud soldiers for the Covenant, and their hearts sang. He was disappointed at his lack of a child. He wasn't of noble birth, and had worked hard through the ranks, reaching aristocracy and his rank. He had yet to take a mate, his tours of duty kept him too busy. And now he was dying, passed over by his living comrades as just another corpse, with the lullaby of gunshots above him. With the glass in his guts. All alone, and dead.

He didn't know how long he was out. A day at least. Three days at most. The battle had long past, the bodies were cold and night had fallen. He had been buried under the corpses of his brothers, cut down by a hail of fire from the human's Warthog turrets judging by the size of the entry wounds. His chest ached and he tried to determine how much blood he had lost by the purple puddle beneath him. From the corpses he scrounged a Plasma rifle with a quarter of its battery intact, as well as his sword still ignited and glowing in the darkness of the night. The human survivors would have long fled, and the Covenant victors had long given chase. If anyone was even on the planet wasn't known. Lacking enemies, his brothers would have been quick to leave to find another outpost to raze.

"This is Major Orff 'Schulwerkee," he barked into his radio. "Orff 'Schulwerkee, does anyone copy? Commander Zulfaree, are you there? Anyone?"

A snarl of annoyance and he booted one of the human corpses across the field. It was frustrating to be on this forsaken planet alone. That he had survived was biting, denied a noble death. He could continue forward and hope to stumble upon his comrades, but without a destination, chances were he would simply expire. Collapsing from blood loss on a quiet savannah was lacking something.

"This is Major Orff 'Schulwerkee. Any who can hear this, please respond."

This battle had long passed, the final assault on the human remnants, ground beneath Sangheili hoof. The humans were dead and his commander had left. His people had left, lacking anything else to be gained, this planet may very well be razed.

"Major…lwerkee…are…?"

The voice was deep and barely audible through a torrent of static. Amongst other things, his radio must have been damaged. That he had gotten a transmission off at all was nothing short of a blessing by the Forerunners. If the speaker was planet side or he had somehow picked up a transmission from a distant star, bouncing through the vastness of space, was a mystery. But it was someone, and he didn't have much desire to lay down and wait for death.

Clearer now, they must have boasted the signal or adjusted the transmission. "This is the _Red of Nail_. What is your position, major?"

Orff looked around. His neck popped, and he checked for any wounds, but it must have just been sore from the cold and lack of movement. He sighed, massaging his long neck. "I'm sorry, sir I don't know. The battle was long. I've activated my tracking device, you probably have a better idea than I do. _Red of Nail_? Who is your shipmaster? What fleet are you of?"

"We have your position. Move three klicks to your north to rendezvous, the human resistance has been crushed, but be wary of any stragglers."

"Understood sir." Perhaps he should have questioned the abruptness of the conversation, or the deep, graveness of the voice, even deeper and graver than a Sangeheili's. But, truth be told, he was tired and wounded, and still young enough that he was not suspicious of everything said.

The cloaking device of his armor must have been damaged during the firefight, it sizzled and sparked when he activated it, drawing even more attention to him than if he just left it off. His plasma rifle wouldn't last for any length of firefights and would overheat in a prolonged engagement. He passed dozens upon dozens of human assault rifles, and enough rounds to take on the entire UNSC navy. But he didn't trust humans design, save perhaps the laser beam he had seen shoot down a Ghost, tar through the armored hull like his blade did flesh. He had lost two brothers to that laser, before his blade tasted the marine's blood. He found himself growling lowly.

If it were up to him, if he were a shipmaster and had that much sway in the Navy, he would have bombarded this entire planet. Burned until its surface was nothing but glass. Kill every vermin who dare raise arms against their better. Who dare defile the sacred lands with their filthy steps. It was more fun to take the planet on the ground, to feel the death of every human, and such encounters brought great honor. But he wasn't the only Sangeheili to fall in the battle. The ground was awash with purple. He crouched before every one of his fallen, checking to see if they still drew breath, but it seemed he was the only lucky one.

He found a vehicle of human design, one of the large things with mounted turret on the back, crashed into the fuming pile of wreckage of one of their ships. The passenger and gunner had been thrown clear of it. He checked the pulse of the driver, and feeling a thumping, however faint, took the human's head firmly and twisted it so it was facing the other way. He threw the body carelessly to the ground and climbed into the driver's seat, surprised that it was so roomy. A little stiff in the shoulders, but that was due to the protrusion of his shoulder guards. The seat would be far too large for any human, like a child driving a tractor. Perhaps it was a psychological thing, Sangheili armor was designed to intimidate enemies of the state, even at a distance. Seeing such a massive vehicle, with the turret on the back spitting out hot lead, may have scared the Unggoy, cowardly wretches they were. No one must have told the humans that Sangheili wouldn't be scared by such a cheap deception.

He stopped half a klick from his destination. The last thing he wanted was for an Unggoy stationed on a turret to mistake him for a human and open fire. Slothful little beasts. To stupid to identify their target before shooting. Cowards, not even worthy of carrying the burdens of the Covenant on their shoulders.

He stroked the bullet holes in his armor with a long finger. It wasn't the first wound he had sustained in the war, it wouldn't be the last, and save the soft skin and ache in his belly, it wasn't a horrible wound. But his pride was hurt. That a human should manage to wound him, even one of their greatest, it was annoying. And he would need treatment, which was all the worse. It was a long, slow walk the rest of the way.

"This is Major Orff 'Schulwerkee contacting the _Red of Nail_. Does anyone copy?" He looked about. "I am at the rendezvous, where is the _Red of Nail?_"

Even if expeditions on this planet had ended, there should have been something to mark this as Covenant territories. Most of the humans may have been crushed, but they were like bugs, digging so deep in they were impossible to root out. They would bide their time, replenish their ranks, then pop up once more. Orff was expecting a perimeter. He was expecting Banshees and Ghosts. Scarabs stretched towards the sky and ready to march forward and trample the humans under their treads. His motion detectors was sparking and glitched, he guessed half of the red blips weren't there, but the other half. He turned around, eyes piercing through the darkness, rifle at the ready but finding nothing. He gripped his rifle a little tighter, sure that at any moment a platoon of humans were going to come pouring over the horizon. It was entirely possible that they had intercepted his frequencies and planned this whole thing out.

His radio buzzed and hummed, before a gruff voice said, "You might want to run." An orange glow caught his attention from the corner of his eye. There was a bright, blinding flash and a fire erupted in the night. The soles of Orff's hooves burned as he stumbled to his side, rolling, in case any additional grenades were thrown. He fired a burst into the Jiralhanae he noticed behind him, from where the incendiary grenade had been thrown, the hulking form silhouetted in the dark. The beast tumbled to the ground, roaring. The hot plasma singed his fur. Beneath the fur, skin began to melt. But Jiralhanae were durable creatures, and he stood back up

Orff felt the ground beneath him rise and heave, and stumbled again as the earth itself opened. A massive, white furred behemoth stumbled out of the trench, gripping a red Plasma rifle and looking for something to shoot. Orff was upon him in a moment, bashing his skull with his rifle. The Jiralhanae stumbled, fazed, and Orff should have pressed the attack, but he was more concerned with any additional hostiles popping out of the ground.

They had dug trenches to ambush him. They had actually set a trap, and worse he had walked right into it. How he had wished the humans had simply killed him. The Jiralhanae bashed his own Plasma rifle across Orff's jaw, knocking him to the ground, dislocating both his left mandibles by the force. He tried to crawl away, only thinking of escaping, when a weight settled on his back and ground him to the soil. The Jiralhanae's foot, he was disgusted to say. The breath was pinched out of him, all he could give out was a low whine as his armor, then his very bones, began to yield under the unflinching weight. He squeezed the trigger of his rifle until it burned his hand, hoping that some stray shot would catch the Jiralhanae.

"Thantus!"

Instantly, the pressure left him, though when he tried to push himself up, he realized the foot was still resting on his back, just no longer trying so hard to crush him.

Something took him by the back, around the ribs, and hoisted him up, and Orff found himself face to face with the largest Jiralhanae he had ever seen. A massive creature, dwarfing even the two fellow pack mates who surrounded him. Albino fur, the mark of the eldest, an ornamental headpiece crowning his head, and the gravity hammer carried effortlessly in his free hand. A chieftain, the kings of the barbaric race. "This one is more use to us alive." The Jiralhanae cocked his head to the side, as if trying to gain a better look at Orff, who cringed and snarled as the chieftain's nostrils opened and his scent was taken in. Apparently having gained whatever information could be taken from such a feral act, the chieftain smashed his forehead into Orff's, knocking him out.


	2. Chapter 2

_I understand your distaste for such an offensive. I understand your reasoning, that we would simply be trading one monster for another. May I offer a counter logic; let the lions fight the wolves. Do not believe the propaganda, I'm the one who makes it. Don't believe the civies who think that we are holding back, that we have the means but not the will to slaughter another sentient race. We are losing this war. Everyday our casualties mount, every day another colony is found and burned to glass. Any defense is cast aside like dust. They will burn our kingdoms, one by one until there is nothing left. I am aware of your affinity for the Spartans, but they cannot save us. Their numbers are too few, and should they ever encounter the Covenant's best soldiers, their elites, I doubt they will survive the encounter. We will lose this war unless something drastic is done. This plan will remove one of the monsters from the galaxy, and thin the ranks of the other. At the very least, it will buy us a few more moments._

_Chapter 2_

"Why is Sornelus making us save this one?" Thantus asked. "Little welp. Pathetic little mutt. He should fill our bellies, not lay on our table. It's been so long since I've had one. I wish they claimed heresy more often, good eating."

Lazar chuckled, and shook his head at his uncle's rambles. Strong of body and covered in a thick layer of crème colored fur, he was still dancing on the brink of maturity. As such, Chieftain Sornelus had seen that he rarely engaged in direct combat. Not that the crew of the _Red of Nail_ ever engaged in combat. Their position was mostly token, patrols and security, grunt work that the Sangheili believed themselves too good for. Long, endless days of wandering around, making sure that everything was in order.

Lazar was bitter, and decided that this Sangheili should be the vent for his frustrations. The Sangheili, a major judging by the armor that had long been removed, was still unconscious, but he would be in immense pain when he finally woke up. Whether he could feel anything in his unconscious slumber was a mystery, but with luck, he was dreaming of this agony. He could feel every stitch, every rend, every rip. Jiralhanae were not known for their tender care, even in such delicate situations as surgery, but perhaps Lazar was being even more rough than normal. He had a basic knowledge of what to do, Sangheili anatomy wasn't drastically different from his own, and he had removed bullets and sutured wounds on several of his pack mates. He knew the entire routine. It was sloppy work, the Sangheili would have a jagged scar running down his pectoral muscle to the very end of his navel for the rest of his life, but truth be told, Lazar didn't care. He had his own scars, one or two of them given by a Sangheili of such a high office, retaliations was impossible.

"Father's orders," Lazar finally said. "How these Sangeheili have ever made it to where they stand. Look at this build. Look at these arms. I could snap him in two. A couple bullet to the gut, a little blood loss, and he's down."

"A wound like this wouldn't stop a Jiralhanae," Thantus said proudly. Perhaps it would, he wasn't actually sure. He cracked a back hand across the Sangeheili jaw, the force enough to knock the major off the operating table and splat on the floor. Thantus was hesitant to take the Sangeheili by the hooves, Lazar by the shoulders, and together they hoisted him back up. That was when the Sangeheili started to stir. Perhaps he was dreaming of the battle, because he clawed and bit, once or twice lifted his hand and squeezed as if trying to fire his weapon. Lazar gripped his wrists, nearly snapping the weak appendage in two, and forced them into shackles. Thantus did the same with the legs. The restraints were meant for a Jiralhanae, and were a tad large for the sleeker body, but they served their purpose since the Sangheili wasn't actually trying to escape, at least until he woke up.

"Where?" Orff asked. "Who are you?" His mandibles dripped with venom as he confirmed that he was not only being bound, but by Jiralhanae. "Release me."

Thantus didn't quite take the Sangheili by the throat. Instead he took his head, fingers at the back of his skull and a thumb just under the eye, and pushing hard enough that Orff gave a pained whimper.

"Uncle," Lazar said. "Sornelus wants this one alive."

"I'm not going kill him, just making his position clear. Beasts like this have to be broken in." Thantus threw the Sangheili's head back. It bounced off the operating table, and Orff had to suppress an urge to pass out.

Sornelus had to be the largest Jiralhanae that Orff had ever seen. He had to bend to step through the threshold, but ships usually had very high ceilings incase a Mgalekgolo needed access, so he could stand straight backed. Sornelus probably rivaled the Mgalekgolo. He was simply huge. To say Sangeheili feared nothing was perhaps incorrect. Orff was terrified of this chieftain.

"I am Major Orff 'Schulwerkee, serving under Special Operations Commander Zard…"

"I can't seem to care," the chieftain growled. He picked up the discarded helmet, crimson in color, and held it between two hands as if any moment he was going to crush it. A tightening of the pectoral muscles, his hands closing, and it would be turned into a ration can. The same could happen to the Sangheili's skull without much problem. Orff flinched. "We are smart enough to intercept transmission. You are fortunate that we were in the area, or you would still be on that planet. The human resistance was minimal. And no artifacts were discovered. You are fortunate that we found you, the glassing will commence shortly."

Jiralhanae were too stupid to lie convincingly, but Orff kept his suspicions to himself. "I would like to be put in touch with my commander."

"I am afraid that is impossible."

"You are refusing to allow me to contact my commander?"

"No, major, I am informing you that it is impossible. You're Council has seen to it that this ship is lacking certain basic necessities, such as reliable long range radios. We also lack a functioning slipspace drive, or we would drop you off at one of your stations. Trust me, major, your presence on this ship is no more appealing to my pack than it is to you."

Orff growled to himself. "Then what is to happen to me?"

"We will finish our present operation and return to High Charity. You will serve on this ship in the mean time. We are in need of the extra hands, I'm sure you will be able to do something."

"No," Orff growled. "You are not my commander. I will not follow your orders."

His hand pushed Orff's head down, grinding it into the cold steel of the table, increasing the pressure until the major was sure his head would pop. All Orff could think to do was open his mandibles and clamp down hard on the chieftain's fingers, sharp teeth not even breaking the thick skin. The chieftain thrust his hand down, sharp enough that Orff saw purple blotches.

"So you've some fight in you? Understand major, you are going to serve this pack, as a soldier or as a meal. When we have finished our operation and dock at a station, you can go find your precious superior. Until then, I am your commander, and you will treat me with the respect that my station offers me. Thantus is your commander. Lazar is your commander. You will treat them with respect. You will obey their every order. Or you will fill our bellies."

The chieftain snorted, crushing Orff's head again between the table and his palm. "If he resists, kill him," he said to Thantus. A moment later, he took Thantus' arm in his grip. "Only if he resists, he is more useful alive, at the moment."

"Yes chieftain." Sornelus shuffled through the doorway, off to tend to other problems. "Watch him," Thantus said to Lazar, before he too shuffled out.

Lazar snorted at the scent of Sangeheili. Even still a youth, he was equal to Orff in size, perhaps a tad smaller, but there were his teeth which his kind weren't above using and he had armor, however sparringly. A shotgun hung loosely on his belt, a majority of the barrel cut off so that it wouldn't drag on the floor. Disgusting to use human weapons. He went about undoing Orff's bounds, and Orff thought of taking the youth as a hostage, but a pain in his stomach stopped those thoughts. No doubt he would have been better off with the bullets beneath his skin, let his anatomy stitch itself back together.

"I am Lazar," the youth barked. "Come along."

The _Red of Nail_ was sizable, and boasted a crew of roughly fifty Unggoy, as well as the chieftain's pack, composed of ten Jiralhanae. The chieftain was Sornelus. His beta, if that was the proper term for such a placement, was Thantus, who Orff had had extensive intimacy with. The others were given the name Mackirus, Fenus, Domin, Grevus, Vanus, Gorgon, and Cascus. He passed Cascus as he was guided along. Cascus was a large creature, fully grown, but his most striking feature was his jet black fur, which was something that Orff had never seen, though admittedly he had very limited experience with these creatures.

As they passed each other, a shift in Cascus' weight threw Orff into the wall, and for a moment he really knew how strong Jiralhanae really were. A shift in his weight, no substantial push or a step in that direction, the slightest movement, that was all it took.

"Watch out for Cascus, he doesn't like you. None of us like you actually. You should bow down and thank Chieftain Sornelus that he has shown your mercy, any of us would have you slit your throat by now."

"The sentiment is mutual, Brute."

Lazar turned, and thrust a foot forward, catching Orff in the stomach. It felt like a shotgun to the gut, minced with the sharpness of the stitches, he fell to his hands and knees, into Lazar's awaiting knee, which cracked him in the mandibles. His mind spun. His strength left him and he fell flat on his back, barely able to breath, his chest felt like it was weighed down with cement. He realized that Lazar was stepping on him, one hand extended to the wall to keep his balance. "We are not Brutes," he growled, pushing Orff harder. "We are Jiralhanae."

"My mistake," he growled.


	3. Chapter 3

_You don't seem to understand, there are no civilians in this war, there are killers and killed and that is it. The Covenant has displayed such a policy time and time again. I've seen men throw themselves at an Elite's hooves, pleading for mercy, only to be ground to dust. We must not concern ourselves for the children of the enemy. The kitten of today is the lion of tomorrow. This is not an offensive that I propose with any ease, but something that must be done. So that our children may now a time of peace._

_Chapter 3_

"What can you do?" Lazar demanded. Orff wasn't sure what this Jiralhanae's position would be called. Bodyguard perhaps, he did make sure that the unsavory Cascus didn't murder him. But he also kept Orff from attacking any of the pack, always keeping himself between the two warring parties. The rest of the pack must have respect him, and Orff was afraid of him, so peace was maintained. He was almost friendly in explaining who was who, or where was what. This ship had been a Sangheili model, but the Jiralhanae had reworked it to better fit their culture, their likes. Almost friendly, since he routinely put a fist into Orff's gut for what seemed like no reason at all.

"What do you need of me?" Orff asked.

"We can't trust you in the kitchen, you would poison our meals. We can't trust you with the weapons, I doubt you could figure out how to use them. Not that we ever use the weapons. Its been ages since we've had an engagement."

"What exactly do _you_ do?"

Lazar snarled. "Not much. You Sangeheili don't allow us many responsibilities. This whole ship is a hand me down, not fit for your use but we can struggle along in it. Occasionally we find an enemy ship or a colony, but not often enough."

To be specific, the _Red of Nail_ was a decommissioned Covenant Light Cruiser. At some point, Orff would learn it had originally been a Sangeheili vessel, originally christened the _Pure of Heart,_ Perhaps he had served on, he had bounced around a lot in the few years of his career. After it was in a brutal dog fight with human vessels, it was nearly destroyed, but could still fly, and so the Sangheili appeased the Jiralhanae petitions with it. "Threw us a bone," Lazar explained.

There were no Gravity Lifts, either they had been destroyed before the decommission or removed before the changing of hands. The Jiralhanae had instead installed crudely designed ladders to move from floor to floor, rudely crammed into the ship's very hull. Orff was nervous for several reasons as he watched the youth start his climb. One, he did not trust Jiralhanae engineering to craft a ladder that could support an Unggoy's weight, let alone something as vast as Lazar. He was sure at any moment they would break, and because he was underneath him, the end result wouldn't be pleasant. But the other thing was a weakness he was not eager to display before this rival. All Sangheili discovered something embarrassing when dealing with human structure, as they had an affinity for ladders too. Perhaps not a weakness, just a nuisance, but it tended to steal the thunder of the conquering soldiers. After they finished the humans off and had to scrounge for any useful pillage, they had the frustrating task of moving through their complexes.

Lazar climbed with no difficulty. Dexterous fingers took hold of the bars and hoisted himself up. Dexterous toes gripped and lifted with no trouble. He was half way up the ladder to the next floor before he looked over his shoulder at the Sangheili who stared at the steps dumbly. "Come up," he rumbled.

Lazar could have died those next moments. Any number of things could have gone wrong with the ship's engines, repairs were forbidden, maintenance was forbidden, so problems just piled on top of each other. There was a chance that the entire thing would simply explode in the deep recesses of space. Lazar could have died in those next moments, and he would have died happy.

In an attempt to climb the ladder, Orff reached as high as his arms could and took a firm grip of the bars. He hoisted himself up, and as was expected in such a situation, he put his foot onto the bottom rung. His foot slipped however, unable to get a grip. He was put off balance, and caught the bottom of his jaw on one of the rungs. Then he fell flat on his back, his nagging wounds aching. Lazar continue up, stopping and turning back every few steps so that he could again look upon the Sangheili. Once, in mocking fashion, he secured thick feet in the bars and leaned upside down so he could stare. Eventually, Orff managed, by relying on his muscular upper body, leaving his lower body to dangle pathetically.

A duo of Unggoy passed him as he finally reached the upper level, hoisting himself onto the floor then slowly rising. He gave a long snarl and caused them scurry away, down the hall, giving that signature whiny shriek. There were several Unggoy in fact, and he could just imagine them snickering lowly behind his back at his unceremonious climb. The greatest of the Covenant, the warriors that entire galaxies feared, could be foiled by a simple ladder.

The Jiralhanae were not completely unreasonable though. They offered Orff a private room, while it seemed everyone but the chieftain and his beta were paired together. He barely fit, it was more the size of a closet than a real living space, but at the very least it was someplace he could wait until his escape. He may be beaten, but he doubted the Jiralhanae would go as far as executing him. Not that they had any reservations for killing a comrade, but it would be bad politics. He still didn't have his armor, it had been removed when the surgery was performed, but he had been permitted to keep his under suit. Now he lowered it to his waste again to check the stitches on his stomach, tracing a finger of the soft, tender flesh. Whether this was the only form of treatment available on the ship, or if the chieftain had decided he was unworthy of anything better, Orff wasn't sure, either seemed completely plausible. Or perhaps Lazar knew no other form of treatment than this barbaric act.

The cot was meant for a human, taken during a pillage most likely. It was impossible for him to lay down on it, but by sitting down and pulling his knees to his chest, resting his chin, he was able to settle into a position that brought him sleep.

It was fitful at best. If it were any deeper, he probably wouldn't have heard his door open. Instinctually, he rolled to his side as a dozen spikes embedded themselves in the wall. The room was too small for him to maneuver properly, but the black furred Jiralhanae had more trouble, his cumbersome movements causing him to trip and smack the walls. Orff took the wrist that held the Spiker in both hands, struggling to wretch the weapon free. Bracing his hooves, he forced forward, out of the room and into the hallway, smashing the Jiralhanae into the wall. His hope was to harm the Jiralhanae to the point he would lose his grip, but his fingers stayed stiff. And worse, now they were in the open, where Cascus could easily swing his arms and hit Orff with full force. The fact that Orff was not only alive after such a blow, but conscious, was nothing short of a miracle.

The bladed tip of the Spiker pressed just hard enough in Orff's throat that if he attempted to exhale, his neck would inflate and his arteries would be cut.

"Sornelus wants to see you on the bridge," Cascus spat.

---

Chieftain Sornelus was accompanied by the nearly albino Thantus, as well as two others. He didn't know a name to connect to them, but they were fully grown and heavily armed, even now, out of a combat situation. Orff silently pondered if these were something of bodyguards. Not that Sornelus needed bodyguards. His size was not just aesthetic, his strength must have been greater than Orff first thought. Sornelus carried a gravity hammer like the physically frail Prophets did walking staves. But even the best of Sangheili traveled with a personal guard, not for their own protection, but just elite soldiers for an elite commander. He turned towards Orff.

Orff hated the thought of bowing to the chieftain. But the chieftain was larger and stronger, and this ship was filled with soldiers loyal to him. If the cost of life was a show of submission, if it was the cost of his future son, he could tolerate the bile in his throat.

"Your armor, major."

As ordered, a slew of Unggoy waddled forward, each carrying a piece of crimson shell. He wasn't sure what to do, but when replacing his forearm guard didn't earn him a beating, he went about putting on the other pieces, helmet last, as there would be a brief moment where his vision would be distorted.

"Thank you chieftain."

"If you will be taking part in the operation, I suppose you must be filled in. We have received word that the humans have established a colony on the moon of planet designation SRBE169. It is a small colony, they must have believed it would pass our notice."

"Yes chieftain."

"You will be the advance assault, tip of the spear."

He growled. "Yes chieftain."

"It's a great honor. You should thank me for such a privilege."

Orff swallowed. "Thank you…chieftain." As he was dismissed, and turned to leave the bridge, he found himself chuckling. It could have been worse. He could have been denied his armor.

The tip of the spear was a name given to the first into combat. The shock troopers. The first strike. Generally, the position was given to the Unggoy. Stupid little beasts were constantly breeding, it was not an act of malice, but of population control lest they spread over the entirety of High Charity. They were so plentiful, what other purpose could they serve?

So this had been the chieftain's plan all along. He wouldn't kill him, if such a crime were found out, the Council would fall upon this pack with all the wraith of war. Instead, how clever this Jiralhanae was, to give Orff a suicide operation, and the Jiralhanae would hang back and laugh. How he wished he could have felt a woman's warmth before his death, but such is the fate of a soldier.

He stopped a passing Unggoy, and the Unggoy shivered and lifted a shaking hand into a salute. "Where is the armory?" Orff asked.

"East wing, a floor down, third room from the ladder, the code is 1-2-3-4."

"Of course it is. Unggoy, I never asked, understood."

"Uh…yes sir."

Ships of this size usually boasted substantial armories, but Orff was still taken aback when he finally found the room, when the doors slide open to permit him inside. At first he wondered if the Jiralhanae had converted a spare personal quarters into a weapons holding. The sheer volume of ordnance was overwhelming. Countless Spikers, Maulers, their beloved Brute Shots, a beam rifle or two though he couldn't see Jiralhanae having the patience to serve as snipers, their version of the Plasma rifle, coated red just to be different in every aspect. And human weapons, salvaged from battles. Shotguns, Rocket Launchers. In that way he had to respect Jiralhanae, they would use anything and everything. Though Orff hoped to never soil his hands with such inferior weapons, if it furthered the Covenant's endeavors he supposed he would have to. For now, he was only armed with his sword, and he had no doubt that the chieftain wanted him to only use his sword in this mission. It was not impossible, depending on the human resistance. But he had instincts that told him to be prepared. He also doubted any of the crew would check if a Spiker disappeared, if a cache of grenades were gone. And none of the Jiralhanae paid enough attention to him to notice another weapon hanging from his hip.

He soon discovered that his cloaking device had been repaired. Assumingly, there were Huragok aboard, which was breaking the terms of the commission. For now he tested it, disappearing into a shimmer of bent light, reappearing a moment later.

The planet didn't have a name, too small and unimportant for such trivial things. Its moon was even more insignificant, so why were his instincts screaming? In a normal operation, Orff would have the privilege of asking his superior officer where the intelligence came from, what resistance they would be facing, and other crucial things. But he had no desire to speak with the chieftain or any other members of the pack. Normally, such a colony, lacking any relics or other important resource would be glassed, but Sornelus claimed they didn't have the weapons. Orff believed the Jiralhanae simply preferred a more intimate engagement. Orff, the entire Jiralhanae pack, and three squads of Unggoy piled into a DX-class Dropship, the humans had dubbed it a Spirit.

Orff kept his head down, until he caught the scent of fur and noticed the Jiralhanae foot that was waiting in front of him. The largest toe tapping the ground in a sign of annoyance. He didn't want to lift his head, but that would taken as insolence. He looked up to the chieftain. "You will go first, kill as many as you can, we will provide back up when the engagement is underway."

Why he didn't just say, "Go and kill yourself like a good little Sangheili," was beyond Orff. He settled for a low, "Yes chieftain."

He snarled, baring his teeth. "I wouldn't want you to soil your hands with one of our weapons," he said. Orff sighed again, clipping the Spiker off his belt and relinquishing it.


	4. Chapter 4

_Should…when…this goes public (and believe me, it will go public, somehow) you will need a fall man. May I volunteer? My losses in this war, given my public status, are well known. I dance in the light and hunt in the darkness after all. Honestly, I fit the profile for going rouge. It's not stretch of the imagination that I should shoot a rocket filled with parasites at a Covenant planet. I guarantee, the investigation would die with me. A war crime, surely, but we must all carry our crosses. Allow me to carry mine up the hill._

_Chapter 4_

"I am at the limits of the colony. It looks to have a population of about a hundred, all adults." He adjusted the telescopic view of his helmet. "All appear to be combatants, armed with submachine guns and assault rifles." His view shifted. "Chieftain, this does not seem to be a civilian outpost. They are heavily armed, and several of those armored vehicles are patrolling the streets. I would advise holding off on the attack. I can investigate further and learn what they are."

"Just follow orders, Sangheili," the chieftain barked.

"Chieftain, I strongly recommend that you hold off the attack until I have better gauged the enemy's strength."

"Begin the attack at once, or I will tear you apart myself."

Even if Orff were to flee, the moment the Jiralhanae finished with the humans they would feverishly hunt him down and execute him for insubordination. He tapped on his camouflage, disappearing into a shimmering glow, and made his way deliberately towards the town.

He had the utmost faith in his own abilities. His armor was working, and though only armed with his blade, hopefully it was all he would need. But something felt wrong. If these were civilians, they should have been wandering the streets in the way that humans so often do, without purpose or destination. But these humans, despite their civilians garb, were tense and ready, traveling in squads of three or four, eyeing every shadow. The way they moved, with deft grace instead of a drunken stupor. On edge because they were losing the war, nervous about an impending attack. But didn't move with residual shows of fear. It was a state of preparedness.

He followed a squad of three, shirking into the shadows when a Warthog passed him, not wanting the bright high beams to expose the bending light. Initially, he hoped to listen to them and learn something, humans did so love to banter and gloat, but these three didn't speak. They just patrolled, moving carefully, shifting aim from side to side, as if they were expecting an attack at any moment. He had to admit, the dedication of these soldiers was impressive. Unggoy in the same position would have sat down to nap by now.

Maybe they heard the ignition of his sword, or the slight hum as it burned the air. One turned towards him as he lunged, but the blade plunged deep into his chest and he squeezed a hand over the mouth to muffle the gurgle. Then the body fell. He took the second with his free hand, twisting the head with a snap. The last, noticing the noise, turned, but was silenced quickly.

Orff looked around, to confirm that no one had noticed. No sense in hiding the bodies, nowhere to hide the bodies, no time. When he heard the rumble of a patrolling Warthog, he waited patiently for it to come near. The driver, seeing his deceased comrades spread over the ground, ordered the gunner to keep two eyes open with a subtle hand gesture, as he and the passenger climbed out of the large vehicle and approached the body. The driver squatted and placed two fingers to the deceased neck. Orff killed the gunner first, twisting the head in familiar fashion. This time he was more careful, and was sure it didn't make a sound. He stalked behind the two other soldiers, gripping their head and pulping them together twice before the bodies tensed then lay still.

"Chieftain." He gave a snarl, clicking his mandibles. "These are not civilians. I strongly recommend employing a different tactic than your idea of rushing in and shooting. Please, if you value the lives of you pack, do not engage."

"You Sangheili may enjoy running from a fight, but we shall continue, and crush these vermin under foot. Such is the will of the gods."

"Chieftain, please, stop being a fool."

Orff heard the distinctive roar of the chieftain's Chopper as it trudged heavily towards the town. If he were working with fellow Sangheili, they would have carefully analyzed their opponents strengths, then, over the course of a single bloody night, proceed to thin the herd until there was only one left for interrogation. The Jiralhanae had instead decided to charge blindly, recklessly, into the town. Perhaps a massive blitzkrieg would serve to shake the morality of most humans. Perhaps another group of soldiers would have dropped their weapons at the sight of the chieftain, riding proudly atop his vehicle, and lowered to the ground to cower. His black and red armor adding to But not these humans. The ones who were already on the streets lifted their weapons and rushed to meet him. Some climbed the houses and took up sniper positions, others took cover and laid down suppressive fire. From out of the houses came the heavy artillery, an entire platoon carrying rocket launchers marching eagerly towards the Jiralhanae.

"Multiple heavy units approaching your position." Orff growled. "And a Battle tank. Chieftain, your units have to retreat. You have a Battle tank coming to your position. You are not properly armed to engage. You and your pack are going to be killed."

It was seeing the tank that Orff first realized what this town was, but just to confirm he opened one of the doors of the "houses" and found it empty. Completely bare. No furniture, or pictures, or even walls to divide the rooms. An open, twenty by twenty space with the exception of a support beam or two to keep the roof from collapsing. A simple shell with nothing inside, but only upon careful inspection would such be discovered. But seeing the tank, that was something. The entire front of one of the houses lowered into the ground, and out rolled the armor, pounding through the shells of houses, taking the most direct path to the chopper. He guessed the roofs of the houses were composed of some sort of jamming material to prevent the heavy vehicle from showing up on satellites. The humans certainly were clever.

"Chieftain, you must retreat, now."

The humans still hadn't noticed him, and now they were so preoccupied with the Jiralhanae that he probably could have lowered his camouflage and walked brazenly in the middle of the street. The tank was still trudging along. The chieftain was a fine specimen, but even he would experience difficulties when faced with a 90mm High Velocity Cannon. He had seen them blow Mgalekgolo to pieces, the assorted worms quivering before lying still.

Growling lowly, he retreated back to the Warthog, climbing into the driver seat and heading towards the sound of thunder, weaving through the streets. Some of the humans mistook him for one of their own, they moved in front of him, hoping to man the turret. Their blood plastered the front of the jeep's windshield.

He twisted the steering wheel, grinding to a stop at the tank's backside. A distance ahead, the chieftain's Chopper lay in a flaming pile, though Orff noticed the albino furred Jiralhanae furiously dodging the flurry of gunshots before joining his pack in a bit of cover, made from several overturned jeeps. Enough to stop the small arms fire, but not the explosions of the tank. Only one Jiralhanae lay on the ground, lifeless, Orff didn't know which. It would be wonderful to watch them suffer. The Jiralhanae were struggling to avoid the massive explosions of the battle tank's cannon, as well as peppering shots of the humans who sat outside, enjoying the vantage point. They were taking such joy in this, playing with the pack instead of just grinding them under the treads, they didn't even notice as Orff slithered behind the tank. Holding a grenade he had scrounged from a corpse in a clenched fist, he punched through the weak armor of the tank's back, rushing backwards before it exploded, decimating the tank and crew. He retrieved a discarded assault rifle from the ground and began slaughtering the stragglers. The gunners on the Warthogs fell with a spray. As did those so eagerly marching to battle with rocket launchers on their shoulder. Their weapons were slow and cumbersome, he cut them down without much trouble. The Jiralhanae and Unggoy, no longer under the tank's attack, turned and opened fire as well, brightening the battlefield with the Spiker and plasma shots. The chieftain, roaring and snarling, charged at the Warthogs, smashing them to pieces beneath his hammer.

The humans, understanding the severity of the situation, divided into two groups. One took cover and sprayed, and shot at the Covenant, while the other group disappeared into the shells of houses. An almost noble tactic, they were sacrificing themselves in the hopes that their comrades would live another day.

It was a brief firefight by most standards, one that Orff and his comrades were victorious in. But not a complete victory, as a majority of the humans had managed to escape the slaughter. The chieftain didn't immediately order the humans to be hunted, more concerned with his wounded pack mates than anything else. The worst off was Gorgon, a youth by any standards, dozens upon dozens of holes in his chest. He lay dead by the time Orff approached. Lazar was struggling to keep Grevus still as he worked, but by the wounds, a gaping hole in his chest, Orff knew it was pointless. And Vanus was missing a hand, sitting on the ground, breathing heavily, cradling the stump that had been taken off by the Warthog turret's shots. The chieftain gave a roar of frustration. He had been hit himself, a singe to his fur, as well as a coating of blood dampening his pelt, some damage to his jaw, but he would survive.

Orff had known the pain of losing a comrade on the field of battle, knew the hatred that boiled inside, even with the promise of a better life after death. When he had lost a brother he had known since his earliest memories, he had nearly killed a nearby Mgalekgolo in a fit of blind rage. It was only that one's partner restraining him and beating him to submission that kept him from soiling his hands with the blood of a comrade. He bore no ill will to that Mgalekgolo, he even felt bad, displaying his lack of control. And though the Mgalekgolo forgave him, he was forever marked with shame. He knew how blinding that anger could be, but he didn't feel that he should be the vent for the chieftain's rage.

Sornelus' fist caught him in the chest, and Orff collapsed. He, his whole species, fancied themselves warriors, fit of body and mind. The best in the universe. He had stood in the path of Mongooses and caught them in the chest, and still had the strength wretch the human off. But the strength of the Jiralhanae was unparallel. He would have gladly taken another clip of a magnum in place of the blow. He was helpless as a stiff kick caught him in the ribs, nagging that stitched wound. He felt himself leave the ground, and waited for the impact that would end his life. Instead he collided with something warm and furry, and realized that Lazar had instinctively caught him.

Lazar set him down, with a disturbing amount of tender care. Thick hands found Orff's chest, taking care of the cracks in the armor. Two thick fingers found the pulse on the Sangheili's neck before he stood back up.

It would be taken as insolence, but Orff arched his neck to the side, he wanted to see the finishing blow, the chieftain bringing down his foot or hammer in undeserving vengeance.

To his surprise, it was the Jiralhanae, Thantus, who was holding Sornelus' cocked fist back. Sornelus didn't immediately realize, but finally he traced the weight on his wrist back to Thantus. He roared, yanking his fist back.

"You challenge me?" the chieftain growled.

"The vermin are escaping and you are wasting time. This is not a colony as you have been told, and we are in danger the longer we linger out here. I will not let any other of the pack fall because of your ignorance. Their blood is on your hands, not the Sangheili's." He growled loudly. "We have more important things to deal with now."

Sornelus snarled. "Domin, bring the wounded back to the ship. See that they are taken care of. Lazar, Cascus, take the Sangheili. Search the east side for survivors. I want no survivors. Thantus, Fenus, come with me. Unggoy, divide yourselves up."

"The survivors aren't hiding in the buildings." Orff stood up. Lazar helped him, and he was in too much pain to shrug away. "These buildings don't exist. They are simply shells. Nothing inside them. Meant to fool any passersby but nothing more."

"What are you suggesting?"

Orff took a deep breath, holding his gut. The flexible armored shell and his own thick, muscular build could only do so much. "In the event of an attack, the humans have been known to retreat to trenches under their towns, shelters I believe they call them." He pointed to the ground. "They are beneath us."

**Just a quick PAS. All my anonymous readers, I don't want you to think that I'm ignoring you. I appreciate any support. But may I suggest starting an account and leaving signed reviews. That way I can address any comments or questions you have personally. Again, thank you, and I hope everyone has been enjoying this.**


	5. Chapter 5

"_Be careful when you fight the monster, lest you become one." I used to believe that. I used to believe that this war could be fought with our souls intact. But now my eyes are open, and I adhere to a different philosophy. "If you want to fight the monsters, you must become one." That was what the Spartan-II program was about, was it not? Creating monsters. Defying gods. Spitting in our creator's face by dabbing in his realm. Not just the argumentation, you are aware of my feelings for the Spartans. But you kidnapped children. You stole them away and replaced them, not to fight aliens, but to fight our own. And what of the clones? Do they not have souls to forfeit? Do they deserve to know only a moment of life before they expire?_

_I permitted my mind to be cloned, and from that came an AI. I allowed a piece of my soul to be taken, a bit of my flesh to be molded, and then I allowed that, my sire, my child, to die for no other reason than to craft something unnatural. For that there is no forgiveness._

_I am a lost cause. The things that I have ordered, the things that I have done. You fight in the light. You fight with your precious Spartans for all the world to see. I fight in the shadows. And I shall plunge headlong into damnation, but if I can just drag some of the Elites down with me…_

_Chapter 5_

There was a sort of eerie calm, which was mostly the fact that neither Lazar nor Cascus made any hostile gestures as they searched for some entrance to the underground trenches. The two Jiralhanae talked in some private language that Orff's translator couldn't decipher, though they said his name more than once. Some sort of dialect. Tranquility was shattered when Cascus took Orff by the throat and lifted him up off the ground. Not quite choking him, the grip was loose, but it was a strain on his neck that caused him to fidget painfully.

"Do not think that your aid has relieved you of your crimes. Do not think that we required you."

"No, you were doing such a good job on your own," Orff hissed, fidgeting his neck, snapping his mandibles, trying to bite the Jiralhanae. He rattled Orff a moment until the major hung still.

"Cascus," Lazar said.

He put Orff against the wall. The fragile wood of the house gave way, and Orff found himself inside, shaking the spots out of his vision. He rolled onto his belly, then hoisted himself up, rubbing his eyes. He looked around the inside, then to the ground and the rug that his feet stood on. Perhaps these humans were not as intelligent as he first though. Orff squatted, tearing the rug away, exposing the trap door.

"I've found the entrance," Lazar said. Technically, it had been Orff, but he didn't see the point in arguing. He rubbed his mandibles tenderly. The trap door was heavily enforced and boasted a lock that would take him a week to pick. Lazar solved the problem by setting an explosive on the handle and herding Orff out.

"Take this," Lazar said, offering a human assault rifle, scrounged from the prior battle. The Sangheili shrugged. He had to admit, it had a good feel, and he had seen humans bash it over Unggoy's skulls, then lift it and continue firing, so it was certainly sturdy. There was plenty of ammunition. Plenty of grenades to line his belt.

"Sangheili, you are first. Twelve steps forward. Follow my word or I will kill you."

Orff nodded passively and began. The Unggoy gave a collective sigh of relief, freed of the position they were most often forced into.

"Chieftain," Lazar said with a hushed whisper. "I do not believe the major should move first. He has sustained injuries. He won't be keen enough to avoid the traps."

"I will not risk one of you falling victim to an ambush," Sornelus growled, and that was the end of it.

Thankfully, they reached a fork without any confrontations. An open, dome shaped room with a duo of doors pointing in opposite ways. Orff lifted his rifle to his eye and shot the camera that was watching them.

"Cascus, Thantus, Fenus, take ten Unggoy and move down the left side. Radio check in every ten minutes."

"Yes chieftain," they said in unison, heavy forms turning and shuffling off. Unggoy waddling fearful behind them.

"Sangheili, forward."

There was an eerie quiet throughout the halls. The humans must have cut the power, the only illumination came from the flashlight on the Covenant's respective armors. "With respect chieftain, our mutual disdain aside, this is a very bad idea. The humans are skilled at guerrilla tactics."

"Scared?" Lazar mocked.

"Cautious. I am not concerned with your lives, but I would like to live long enough to sire a child."

Sornelus pushed the major against a wall. "Stop your whining and move."

"They know that we are here chieftain. I have shot every camera I can, but they can still trace our path. And these narrow hall ways give us very little cover. These are not civilians, they are not even the grunts. These are elites."

The pressure of the grip increased, the armor that protected his rib cage whined loudly. He closed his eyes and took a breath.

The Unggoy died first. Whether the poor fool was the human's target or caught by a stray bullet wasn't clear. It didn't seem as if they would target the Unggoy for immediate execution. The poor little bastard wheezed and gasped, his methane tank breached, which implied one of the humans had accidentally squeezed off a shot.

Orff may have hated the chieftain, but he was still a soldier at heart, and as a soldier, he knew that the life of his commander was more important than his. He leapt slightly into the air, and bracing his boots against the wall, pushed himself forward and dove at the chieftain, tackling him to the ground as a flurry of bullets rained above them.

Lazar stood there, absorbing bullet after bullet, firing his two Spikers towards the humans, the dark hallways glowing with the orange projectiles. The Unggoy mostly panicked, but one or two held up their pistols and squeezed off shot after shot until they overheated and burned their hands. Orff knew the futility. Even pouring a flood of rounds down the hallways, the humans were ducking inside cover, blind firing their weapons but do to the enclosed space, were getting more than a few lucky hits. He clicked his flashlight off, disappearing into the shadows, and tore the methane tank from one of the dying and dead Unggoy. He snatched a Spike grenade from Lazar's belt, attached it to the tank, and threw it with all his might down the hallway.

He wasn't expecting to kill all, or even most, of the humans, but the explosion and noxious gas disoriented them enough that Orff could charged into their ranks, sword glinting in hand. He was followed by the chieftain, with his massive hammer, and Lazar, who now utilized the blades attached to his Spikers. The humans panicked like leaderless Unggoy, with the three Covenant in their ranks, and were cut down with relative ease.

Sornelus ignited a flare to illuminate the darkness of the room. Orff sighed, flicking a light switch. Above the lights hummed to life. The entire complex was oddly shaped in fact. There were very large rooms, domed and circular, like this, with two doorways, pointing at opposite directions. Orff guessed the underground complex honeycombed extensively. Most of the room must have been like this, filled with nothing but cover for the humans to mount barricades. Somewhere in the center was the main room, where whatever the humans were up to went on. The long hallways, the disorienting rooms, all looking alike. It was meant to confuse any invaders, and it was doing just that. A squad of ten could hold out against an army for any length of time.

"These are ODST troopers," Orff said, observing the armor. "Human elites." He thought to himself. "You were wise to continue the attack chieftain; they are doing something important here. Something that will most likely pose a danger to the Covenant. It is best to deal with such threats in their infancy."

Sornelus growled, lips rolling up and exposing the fangs. He touched a hand to his radio. "Cascus," he growled. "Thantus?"

"Chieftain," they said. "We are experiencing heavy resistance. Every hallway ends in a trap. We have lost most of our Unggoy."

"That is how this base has been designed," Orff said. What a nod of the head implied, the major wasn't sure, but eventually he deduced that the chieftain wanted him to speak. Orff swallowed nervously. "Fan out, check every room. Mark you trail with human blood so you don't get lost. The humans are guarding something very, very important to them. Something that is very, very dangerous to us. Look for computers, look for vials, or weapons, anything that could imply a laboratory or factory or some new Demon they've crafted. Anything out of the ordinary. Anything you've never seen the humans carry in normal battles. Please try to keep any of the sensitive equipment intact. Leave as many humans alive as possible for interrogation purposes."

"Chieftain?" Thantus asked, looking for verification.

"Do as he says," Sornelus ordered. The radio went dead.

There was a subtle groan, as the human who Orff had impaled through the stomach but avoided immediately fatal wounds began to stir. Orff turned and hoisted the human up, taking pleasure in this exhibition of strength. After so much time with the Jiralhanae, he needed this moment to vent, to remind himself why his were the most feared warriors in the galaxy. Why, even if the Jiralhanae had their brute strength, his kind had the sharp minds that trumped such aspects. He pulled off the human's helmet and threw it across the room. He was just a kid, black hair and brown eyes, with the scars that every soldier gets. A scared, but solid look. Firm even in the face of devils. He held him, eye to eye. He sniffed him, for no other reason than to elevate the human's fear. The chemicals in the body reacted differently depending on outside forces. He had learned humans secreted a pungent odor when afraid. This human was afraid.

"Where is the central control?"

"Fuck you squid face," the human spat.

Orff popped the human's right arm, breaking it at the elbow. "Where is the central control?" Pinching the ear tightly between index finger and thumb, the skin tore without much resistance. "Where is the central control?" The human whimpered and soiled himself. His eyes started to roll back into his head, but a sharp smack across the cheek kept him from passing out. "Where is the central control?"

Torture was a form of art. Not simply an act of malice. If he left the Jiralhanae to do this, the human would be dead thick, strong hands closed over the weak chest, and they would not learn anything. The torturer needed to carefully gauge the victims standing, inflict just enough agony that it was intolerable, but not enough that the body should shut down. It was not cruelty that lead him to bat this human around with such ease, simply business. And he believed this was a bit of mercy, if he gave the human to the chieftain, such a fate he didn't wish upon this little beast. He moved his mandibles very close to the human's ear, and said in a hushed whisper, "Please, tell me, and I will make it quick."

The human, the youth with his black hair and brown eyes. "Captain is going to kill you," he said, dazed, skin pale and slick with the blood gushing from his absent ear. "Invisible ink on the walls. Helps us get around. Go ahead. Find it. Captain is going to kill you. This will be your tomb."

The human's neck popped with a flick of the wrist, and he let the body fall. Taking the helmet he had thrown across the room and ordered an Unggoy front and center. He kneeled down so he could better face the sniveling coward and forced the helmet on the head. He had to break off the front of the helmet to compensate for the Unggoy's breathing respirator, but eventually he managed to make it fit. "Can you see anything?" he asked.

"No sir," he said quickly.

Orff finger traced the side of the helmet, at last finding a subtle indent that implied a button. He figured there was a fifty-fifty chance of getting the desired effect, or activating a failsafe that would detonate the helmet and remove the Unggoy's head. That was an accepted risk.

"There are lines sir," the Unggoy said, holding up a clawed hand and pointing at the walls. Hands out in front of him, apparently the altered vision distorted his surroundings, he stumbled out the door, into the left hallway and pointed to the walls. "There are marks sir. Arrows."

"Chieftain, I would advise informing your fellow pack of this new development. Unggoy, lead the way."

**Yeah ****Myranha, I was referring to you, and any other anonymous readers. Ever since I heard Stan by Eminem, I'm more than a bit punctual about answering fans. It's no big deal, but Chapter 6 is the end of this, so if you have any questions or comments, you're going to have to give me some way to contact you. As always, reviews are appreciated.**


	6. Chapter 6

**I do like how this story came out, and I really hope that I have some ideas how to handle a sequel. But for now, this stands alone, or as a prequel, what ever works for you. Thank you, everyone who has read, and as always, reviewers get cookies. And cake. Lots and lots of cake.**

_Chapter 6_

"What are they?" Lazar asked.

"Do not touch it," Orff said sharply. "Do not even step near it."

"But what is it?"

Sornelus gave an embarrassed shrug, he was as lost as the youth.

"It is Flood. A parasitic organism. You should read our archives, we have extensive records of them."

Lazar looked closely at the squirming, gangrenous mass of flesh that shriveled and expanded, sucking on the glass that separated it from the Jiralhanae. He jumped when a hand touched his shoulder, but it was Orff, who simply guided him backwards.

"Chieftain," he said. "We cannot be sure these are the only Flood. We have to destroy this entire complex. Our mutual disdain aside, the Flood is too dangerous. It infects Jiralhanae and Sangheili alike."

"You are right. But how do we destroy it without leaving us vulnerable?"

It would appear that the entire complex was built around this single laboratory, a vast thing, with no less than twenty test tubes keeping Flood of various shapes, sizes, and forms. Though not fluent in the human's language, he knew enough, and by glazing the computer screens, learned several disturbing facts.

"Show the humans the most dangerous creatures in the universe and they decide to make pets of them," Orff snorted. "Ideally, this entire moon should be glassed, but that may take too long. If the humans are desperate they may release the parasites, sacrificing themselves in order to kill us. And we cannot allow the parasite to escape." He typed at the computer, placing a hand on a large red button and applying pressure. A burst of flame opened from the vial's base, engulfing the Flood in an orange burst. There was a hissing sound, like an animal, and when the flames died out, there was nothing left.

"It would be best if we leave, chieftain, we need to get to get to the _Red of Nail_. Is it or is it not capable of glassing this moon?"

"We could glass a large portion, this base specifically. Then contact a fleet and have the rest done.

"Thantus," Sornelus said into his radio. "Thantus, Cascus, do you copy?"

"Yes chieftain." That was Cascus. His voice strained. Out of breath and tired. A residual gurgle implied damage to his lungs, perhaps filling with blood. "The resistance is more than we anticipated. We have found several laboratories, they seem to be what the humans were defending. They are all filled with creatures, fleshy mounds."

Orff turned on his radio. "There is a large red button on the control panel. Please press it and incinerate the Flood."

"Chieftain?"

Sornelus barred his teeth. Orff put his head down in mock submission. "Do as he says."

"There may still be more Flood, chieftain. I would strongly advise that we return to the _Red of Nail_ and order the glassing."

The laboratory was built in a circular lay out, with six doors, each a set distance apart. Three of the doors opened and squad of humans poured forth, battle rifles singing and spraying. Orff overturned a table and ducked, holding his head down as shot after shot poured above him. Lazar lifted both Spikers and fired, until Sornelus took him around the waist and hoisted him out of the room through the door they had come through. It didn't surprise Orff, he supposed. It was what he would do, if the tables were turned. But his mandibles were open slightly as the door closed. Perhaps he would have abandoned the chieftain, but a part of him felt a kinship to Lazar, however slightly.

He lowered his head farther, crawling into a fetal position, praying to the Forerunners that no stray bullets would catch him. His cover was breaking apart behind him.

He tipped his assault rifle over the cover and sprayed fire. But the bullets kept flying over his head. Then they flanked him. Of the group of ten, six stayed and continued firing at the cover, at the sides when he peeked out, at the top when he tried to return fire. Two went left. Two went right.

Bracing his legs, he leapt over the cover. The humans followed him, opening fire, his shield struggling to stay up as the bullets hit it like rain drops. It fell, and a dozen bullets embedded deep in his armor before he landed, drawing his sword and swinging, cutting one of the humans to pieces. He danced to his left, slicing through two more. He felt something wrap around his throat, a human had leapt onto his back and got him in a choke hold. He thrust his head back, knocking the human down, before turning and dropping a hoof onto his chest. A knife bit into his hand, just between the top thumb and index finger. He caved that humans skull with his unwounded fist.

They all had knives now. He was in their ranks, they couldn't risk wounding their own with stray bullets. These weren't normal soldiers. Orff had seen normal soldiers draw their combat knives in pathetic attempts to defeat their opponents, even a decently trained Unggoy could match them. These weren't normal soldiers. They ducked and weaved, finding any opening in his damaged armor and jamming their blades into his skin. He swung and sliced through them, and the five that were left still bit him with their little daggers. To attack he had to leave himself open, and these humans were far too smart to leave such an opportunity alone, to keen not to find the openings in his armor.

He was bleeding profusely by the time only one was left, their commander judging by the fact that he was still alive. He was their best. Their leader.

He ducked beneath a swing and tried to bring his blade into Orff's mandibles, a fatal wound, should it connect. But Orff was faster. He took a step back and leaned his weight fully on his back foot so the knife only cut through the air. His sword sliced neatly through the human's forearm. He stumbled back, holding his stump, as Orff brought a knee into his chest, crushing his ribs. Another knee to the jaw. He lifted the human, bashing his helmet into the skull before throwing the body against a wall. Perhaps a tad brutal, but he was in no mood to play around.

And his wounds. He breathed heavy, though refused to show his weakness to any of the cameras. It seemed doubtful that the chieftain would wait for him to return to the ship, but it would take time for the ship to be ready, and if he could find a fast mood of transportation, perhaps he could beat them. If they would even allow him onto the ship was another matter entirely, but one he didn't concern himself with at the moment.

---

It wasn't until they made it out of the human complex, following the crimson smears on the walls to lead them out, as all their Unggoy had been killed and none of the Jiralhanae could wear the human's helmets properly, that Thantus asked his chieftain where the Sangheili was.

"Lost, to the humans," Sornelus said, shuffling along. "_Red of Nail, _this is Chieftain Sornelus. Prepare to leave. Contact the fleet and have them prepare to glass this moon."

"Chieftain, what happened to the major?" Thantus asked again.

"The Sangheili is dead," Sornelus snorted, gripping the chest piece of Thantus' armor.

"Did you do anything to aid him, brother?"

"Do I detect sympathy in your scent? Have you so quickly forgotten their crimes? The children we have lost to their hand?"

"That Sangheili had proven time and time again to be a creature of faith. You are too blinded to see that. This entire operation was the doings of a fool."

That was when Sornelus took Thantus by the collar of his armor and lifted him off the ground with his free hand. His feet dangled loosely under him. The hammer stroked Thantus' cheek in mocking fashion. "The only thing keeping you alive is my patience, brother. You would be wise to bite your tongue."

"I would rather die than continue to serve under a fool."

With a roar, Sornelus threw Thantus to the ground. Swinging his hammer over his head, he intended to bring it down and crush Thantus under the weight. Thantus rolled to his side, avoiding the fatal embrace, before stumbling to his feet and charging, tackling Sornelus to the ground. Swinging his Spiker, he sought to slice into cut into the chieftain, but Sornelus caught him by the wrist. They struggled for a moment. Sornelus was larger, but Thantus leaned his full weight down, gravity aiding the push, until Sornelus brought his knee into Thantus' side and batted him away.

Lazar was at a loss of what to do. Aid his father, aid his uncle, was this even an official fight or the settling of a feud between brothers. He took a step forward, but Cascus placed a hand on his shoulder. Lazar looked up to the adult, who stared on.

"You are weak brother," Sornelus said, smashing a fist into Thantus' snout. "A herd of Unggoy, a Sangheili, a miniscule price to pay for what we now know. The humans using Flood, the San 'Shyuum must be made aware of such a development." He broke another fist into Thantus' face before massive hands found his brother's throat.

"Gorgon," Thantus spat. "Grevus. They are dead by your hand. Was it worth it?"

Sornelus' grip loosened. Thantus thrust his hands forward and caught the chieftain's skull, before jamming his thumbs into the fleshy eyes, pushing until he broke through the gel and felt the oozing blood. Sitting up, and dragging the chieftain down, his teeth found Sornelus' throat and cut through the thick fur and skin. When he ripped his head back, a large chunk of meat came with it. Thantus released the chieftain's head and reached into the open flesh, taking a handful and yanking his hand out. Reaching farther still, he pulled out another pound of flesh before the chieftain lay still. Noticing the low rise and fall of Sornelus' chest, Thantus reached out and took hold of his spiker. The sharp blade cut nicely through the skull of his left ear, a bit of blood dribbling out and saturating the fur, but above him, his brother ceased to draw breath.

Thantus was quiet as he pushed the corpse off of him. Quiet as he took up the hammer, and went about the methodical process of stripping his brother of his armor, replacing his own. He accepted Cascus' aid in walking, as they began to make their way back to the _Red of Nail, _but didn't say a word. No joy, to take his packmate's life. No bragging, no boasting.

---

Perhaps what few humans that were left understood what was happening, the immanent glassing, or at least a probable invasion, because they seemed to be in a panic. Rushing through the labyrinth of hallways. Concealed by his armor's camouflage, he stalked a few steps behind as this little group swelled with what he assumed was any remaining personnel. It didn't seem likely that they would hear his boots over the sound of their own scuffles and rushing, their questions, asking aloud what is happening? Where was their precious captain?

When they reached the hangar, the humans gathered together like Unggoy caught in the cold. They bantered loudly, dividing into squads and deciding who should go where. The humans would take every vehicle they could, hopefully if they all took off at once, not everyone would be caught by the Covenant who were now floating over their head. There were only a few vehicles anyway, a Pelican and an assortment of smaller fighters, Longswords he believed they were called. He didn't have a compatriot to help pilot the larger ship. The Longsword would do fine, he could take it and make it to space, then join back up with his comrades. He would have to open a radio quickly or be shot down by the Covenant's dragnet.

Some of the humans noticed the Longsword as it powered up, some even opened fire, realizing that it wasn't there own. Orff didn't bother with them, he fired several missiles at the hangar's closed doors and sped out, incinerating one or two of the humans from the burn of the engines. The vehicle handled surprisingly well, and he glided gently over the ground, learning the controls and what every blinking light and flashing switch did before he dared to attempt to climb. He found the radio easy enough, and opened a transmission in a Covenant frequency. A fleet would be coming in any time now, and he would rather not die by friendly fire. Better to mention he was piloting a human ship as soon as possible.

"This is Major Orff 'Schulwerkee, does anyone copy?"

_If indeed your opinion cannot be swayed, I must voice my concerns. You still believe this war can be won with morals in place? We, humanity, cannot afford to cling to such ridiculous notions in this time of darkness. With respect, sir, we are presently at war with a covenant of aliens who single purpose is our destruction. But I respect your orders. I will keep the parasite spores under lockdown, cease any tests, but I will not destroy something with this much potential. And, should you change your mind, I will be quick to initiate the operation. Everything is set, it just awaits approval. Perhaps after another dozen of our planets falls to the orbital bombardment. Perhaps when your entire squad fill the bellies of a pack of Brutes. Perhaps when you see your wife and children torn apart by an Elite who then refuses you a quick death. Perhaps when you realize your precious Spartans are not our salvation, but our damnation. Until then, I will be waiting._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Semper vigilans,_

_Captain Grigori Leonivich Kalashnikov_


End file.
